


Sylvan Throne Epilogues

by chipperdyke



Series: Sylvan Throne Text and Epilogues [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Original Character Death(s), Slytherin pairing, Violence, after the war
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-06-06 04:04:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6737497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chipperdyke/pseuds/chipperdyke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything goes to shit.</p><p>Cross-posted with FF.net</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story.
> 
> Rating: NC-17 forever!
> 
> Thanks to my beta, Sashimae, whose guidance and insights are actually without compare.

_A/N: Again, this is essentially a new story, and it's pretty rough right now. If you are looking for a finished story, do not read this chapter or any following. I might be able to fix this up later, but right now I'm just barreling through blindly._

_Un-beta-ed, so all mistakes are mine._

* * *

"I'm going to come." It was a whisper, almost apologetic. Hermione was hovering above Lew, their hips just inches apart, trembling. Her eyes were dark, but she had been quieter than usual, almost solemn.

Lew hadn't needed the warning. Hermione's body was already tensing. "Yes, baby. Come for me." Lew followed the rippling deeper, rotating her wrist to allow her third finger to brush Hermione's clit. "I want to feel you squeeze me." An unexpected moan escaped Lew's lips, and Hermione echoed it. And then Hermione tightened around Lew's fingers, and Lew's body shook with release. Hermione watched her face, eyes dancing, with a mysterious smile.

Lew hissed, "Come," and pumped harder. But she had lost Hermione completely. When her body stopped shocking, Hermione pushed her hand away and straddled her hips.

"I lost track," Hermione said by way of explanation. She rested her forehead on Lew's, the solemnity coming back over their naked bodies like a heavy blanket.

"What's wrong?" Lew asked, sneaking a kiss.

"I have been thinking." Lew nodded and kissed her again, encouragingly. "I want - I do want your baby. Our baby. But… I don't know if I can carry again. I'm - I would be too - afraid."

Lew frowned, and then she understood. "Are you asking me?"

Hermione pushed up and examined Lew's face. "It's been four years and I'm still not ready. And Michael asked me… why I was avoiding him." Michael had asked Lew the same question last year. She was surprised that he had finally asked Hermione. Maybe he didn't trust Lew's answer, and for good reason - it wasn't the whole truth. Lew didn't know the whole truth.

"What did you tell him?" Maybe Lew should have asked Hermione directly. Maybe Hermione would answer the question for both of them.

Hermione looked pained. "I'm not avoiding you, Lew," she said instead.

"I didn't say that," Lew protested. "But I know why." _We aren't the family you wanted._ "You're busy. There's too much to do, running a department. You're always distracted when you're here, anyway."

Hermione's lip twisted. "It doesn't have to be that way. I'm here for both of you, still."

 _Maybe you don't want to be._ The thought provoked an icy spike of panic in Lew's chest.

But Hermione was on an entirely different train of thought. "Every time I think about coming here, I remember that baby in the tree, Lew." She was crying. "I can hold you…" she trailed off, and then lowered herself onto Lew's body, clinging hard, almost hysterical.

Lew murmured, "I'm yours," and rubbed her back. "You can hold me, but I'm not enough?"

"I want a baby. I never thought I did, but after Michael, I - it's driving me crazy. You're so good with James." It sounded like a change of topic, but maybe it wasn't. "Ginny's actually pregnant again. Did she tell you?"

Lew bit the inside of her cheek and shook her head. _Weasley breeders_ , she thought unfairly. She didn't like Ginny. She was controlling, and it had only gotten worse since she married Harry. "OK," she said to Hermione, and kissed her face. "Let me think about it." Hermione nodded and kissed her, hard, her breath shallow. It was easy to mistake the emotion for desire, and although Lew knew better her heart still blossomed under the attention. With Hermione kissing her, Lew could pretend that Hermione wanted to be there. Maybe she did want to be there. The eagerness of her kiss should have been indication enough.

"Let's try something," Lew said. She was still wet. The slickness was cold between her thighs, seeping out of her. "Would you - can you put a finger inside me?" Hermione pushed off the bed and looked at Lew, surprised. "You would need to, you know," Lew explained. "I just want to know what it would be like."

Hermione nodded. "I didn't think of that. We really don't have to."

"I want to," Lew said, and Hermione's hand went between her legs, hasty. Lew shuddered under the attention, grinding down on Hermione's fingers. She pulled Hermione down to straddle one of her thighs, wrapping her arms around her and thinking of the perfect shape of Hermione's fingers, her gentle feminine desire. Lew wanted to be bound to Hermione in every possible way. She wanted their bodies to know each other so intimately that they melded. "Inside," Lew said, and Hermione pushed into her, watching her face.

Lew watched her, too, waiting for her emotions to settle enough that she could distinguish them. "Oh," Hermione gasped, panting. "You're perfect. I've wanted this for so long." Her finger moved a little, deeper, exploring. "I want you like this. I want you." It was a plea. Lew watched her as her body buckled and her eyelids fluttered. This was what Lew should be feeling. Hermione was ecstatic. Just one finger shouldn't be enough to hurt Lew. Hermione's need should take her over. But it didn't.

Instead, oddly, she remembered the ring, the diamond heavy on her newly washed fingers. Confusing. _It's my grandmother's ring_ , he'd said. _I want to marry you. Will you?_

She had thrown it into the corner. And then he had told her what was happening in her, something she already knew but had managed to repress. _I don't want it_ , she told him. _I don't want you, and I don't want it._

He had smiled gleefully. _If you won't marry me, I will give you back those chains. But there is nothing you can do to get rid of me, or the baby._ Of course he had been wrong about the baby.

Lew shook her head. "No," she said. "I can't." Hermione pulled out of her and kissed her face, and Lew flipped their positions. "I'm sorry."

Hermione nodded and pulled Lew into her body. Her wetness was slick on Lew's stomach as she grasped Lew. The need came off her in waves. She kissed her, Lew put her hand on the inside of Hermione's thigh, and Hermione said, "Come on, please."

She was wetter than before, already close. Lew considered a third finger, but Hermione didn't seem to need more. Lew felt her body relax into the motion, following Hermione. Finding that deep soft spot with such a fast rhythm was almost difficult, but when Lew did Hermione slowed and let Lew deeper. Her hands shook and she kissed Lew. "Do it." Lew frowned at her. "Give me your soul. Please."

Lew shook her head. Hadn't Hermione just said she would be too afraid?

"I want it. Please. I want your baby. I do." Hermione was rippling under her fingers. She wasn't thinking clearly. If she came, they could talk about it. Lew brushed her clit, and Hermione shuddered. "I won't come until you say yes."

She stilled her hips, and Lew slowed unconsciously. "You said you weren't ready."

"I'm ready now. I want it. Please, Lew." Lew rolled her nipple with her tongue, and Hermione shocked into her hand, a small victory. "I love you. I want to hold your baby. I - I want to start again. Please. Please." Hermione hissed her name and then stilled her hips again. Damn. "Tell me you will do it."

"You want to raise a child? Here, with me?"

Hermione nodded and moaned. "Lew, let me come now. Please."

"You want to feel a part of me growing in you?"

"I want all of you," Hermione said. "I love you."

"I will do it," Lew said. Hermione's body started moving again, and then they were on the precipice. The spell was unfamiliar now, but Lew remembered it. "Will you take me?" The same words as before.

"Yes," Hermione said. The magic warmed Lew's fingers and then she was gone, riding the waves of Hermione's orgasm and trying to imagine what Hermione felt at this moment. Was Lew's soul heavy and harsh, or did it feel right? Was it liberating, or did it bind her? There was nothing Lew wanted more than for Hermione to be free.

Finally it was over, and Lew took back her soul. Feeling came back in a rush. "Was that long enough?" Hermione was asking.

Lew nodded, too overwhelmed to speak.

"Are you OK, Lew?"

"Yeah, yes," Lew said. "Are you OK? How are you?"

"Good. Happy." She was smiling. "Are you happy?"

Lew smiled back at her. "Of course." She kissed Hermione's stomach. "You are going to have the nicest life. I promise."

* * *

"What about the Statute of Secrecy?"

"I don't know." Hermione was pacing in front of the fireplace, and her parents were sitting on the couch, holding each other's hands. "Someone must have worked with them."

"I'd guess we will soon find out who," Lew said quietly.

"It just seems so impossible."

"I felt it," Hermione said. "During the demonstration. It affected everyone in the room. It really does stop magic."

"Can't you track it down? Destroy the technology?"

Hermione shook her head. "We're trying. Harry is - but it's too dangerous not to comply right now. We're stronger united than we would be if we hid."

"I am working with Harry," Lew told the Grangers. "I'm not going to register. There are a few of us that can stay - secret. Mostly Muggleborn. People without families. The Minister stepped down and he's joined us." She had decided not to directly argue against Hermione, at least while explaining the situation to her parents. Their approval of their relationship was tenuous already.

She could see the look that passed between Hermione's parents. _But you do have a family_ , the look said. Lew kept her eyes from falling on the swell of Hermione's belly.

"Hermione?" Ms. Granger said finally. "What about you? Are you registered?"

"Of course," Hermione said grimly. "We can't all step down. The Ministry has to stay intact. We need to appear complacent, or the Muggle government will use more coercive methods. For now it's just talk, but with the disparity in technology even the talk feels like a threat. It's - I'm sure that it will get worse. The Prime Minister has already asked for volunteers to join the army. They're talking about dissolving the Aurors, absorbing them into either the police or the army, too. Hopefully the Ministry can slow the pace down enough that Harry and Lew can find a counter to the weapon."

"I don't understand. How can the weapon be powerful enough to coerce wizards? Don't you have - I mean - magic is more powerful than that."

"It's not the weapon that coerces us," Lew said. "It's the guns. With magic we can resist domination, enforce the Statute, stay separate. But with the weapon on their sides, suddenly the technology trumps magic. I mean, at this point it's not dangerous, exactly, not with the Brits at least. But once Muggles start wars with wizards on both sides - and nuclear warheads involved - that's what I'm worried about."

"It's unfair." Mr. Granger was indignant. "The wizards have been so - you have left us alone. We should have left you alone. Didn't you say that the last time the wizards interfered with Muggle affairs was the Second World War?"

"Whoever worked with them must have known that the weapon would help them, too," Hermione explained. It was an unnecessary explanation. "But if you can imagine one wizard controlling a Muggle army - the amount of destruction that caused? With Muggles controlling units of wizards…"

 _It couldn't be worse_. This, at least, Lew and Hermione agreed on. There was no alternative. They had to destroy the technology before the Muggles lost their heads and destroyed the world with it.

Lew and Hermione spent that night in the cabin, not knowing it would be their last in that place. The Trace was expanded to all registered witches and wizards the next day.

* * *

The first three "delegates" from the Prime Minister hadn't been difficult to abduct. Kingsley's Imperius charms effectively revealed something that Lew had always suspected: the Muggles would never fully inform a person they sent directly into the lion's den. The third had provided false information, and after that the Resistance began wearing combat vests and carrying handguns.

The non-Muggleborn wizards in the Resistance were virtually useless when it came to strategy or combat. Some refused to practice shooting, or maintained accuracy charms while they practiced. Only five of the Resistance members even knew how to drive Muggle vehicles. The idea that the weapon was an American technology was also very offensive to them. Many refused to believe it, even after repeatedly dosing the British Prime Minister with Veritaserium and questioning him.

On the assumption that creating the weapon - they hadn't come up with a better name than that - was an expensive or time-consuming endeavor, the Resistance stole every model that they reasonably could. The second one they stole they took apart, which made it self-destruct. Luckily, Lew was the only one near enough to get caught by the explosion, and the anti-magic field deactivated at the same moment as the explosion. It wouldn't have been enough time to put up a rudimentary shielding charm, but it was enough that Lew's fire affinity was able to absorb the damage.

But their progress wasn't fast enough. They still didn't know where the device was manufactured, or where it was developed. It was 2006, and Muggle computers were everywhere. How could they destroy even just the blueprint of the device itself, let alone the knowledge of how to create it? It didn't seem possible.

Gradually, Lew began accepting that they couldn't. The game changed. What went into the manufacture of the device? Could they remotely detonate the devices before they were in range? Or - more difficult to do, but ultimately more effective - could they cast through it? Some spells seemed to penetrate deeper into the field than others. Imperius, unfortunately for Lew, was one of the spells that seemed to resist the field's effects the most. If the field differed in its power depending on the class of magic, it was reasonable to attempt to use magic against it.

Most frustrating to Lew was that Hermione had insisted that it was too dangerous for her to know all the details of the Resistance operations. This meant that while Hermione did practice using magic against the devices, she refused to allow Lew to inform her on any progress that the rest of the team made. Hermione had been the one that realized first that the classes of magic penetrated the field differently, but since it was just her and Lew practicing, she never tried Imperius against the field and so was missing that potentially crucial detail.

After the work, they drove the device to a new, "safe" location, and then drove together to one of their cabins or Lew's tent. Apparition, even side-long, activated the Trace, so spending time with Hermione often involved long transit times.

Hermione took the indignity of being denied magic during their visits with inconceivable grace and tolerance, but no wizard was capable of restraining their magic fully and every visit to a safe location was a risk not to be taken lightly. The first mistake was just a pot of ink, caught midair. The second was an extension spell on Lew's fingers, alarming on a few different levels. The distance that the danger imposed made Lew ever more a slave to her, which seemed to equally irritate and mollify Hermione.

The biggest breakthrough for Lew didn't happen because of any of their direct efforts, though. It happened by accident. Lew was transporting one of the devices and had accidentally left one of Michael's saplings in the back seat. Halfway through the drive, Michael had shaken the tree to get Lew's attention. Of course she couldn't cast the communication spell, as he had wanted. But Michael's magic, or whatever it was that he employed, was immune to the field's effects.

Lew had not considered asking Michael to help the Resistance, and still she hesitated to do so. But slowly, their activities together shifted intention, away from play, and toward warfare.

* * *

He was sitting on the windowsill watching. The Grangers were there, and they knew him, but they didn't speak to him and never had. Ginny Weasley and an infant circled in and out of the room. And Harry Potter was always wherever Hermione was. Usually outside of the room, walking. This was good, because it meant that Lew stayed close. She never left the room.

They were playing a game. Michael would show her what one of his trees saw and heard. And she would guess what country the tree was in. She had laminated a map of the world and hung it up where he could see it, and they had practiced for months before he understood the dark spaces. She would tell him what number tree she was at on the map, and he could see the space on the map in between where she had been and where she was now, but the space wasn't real to him and he was constantly confused. Finally she suggested memorizing the locations on the map of particular trees. This wasn't so difficult. And then the dark spaces spread out, and he could see the distance.

After that, it was he that taught her where he was, what he could see. He always showed her things he didn't understand, and she would explain, words and images intermixed. Usually his questions were about things he heard people saying. The words ran into sentences, and the sentences collided with each other in arguments, impossible to piece together. But Lew always knew what they were talking about.

Now he could understand what the Grangers said, although he still couldn't speak. Lew was as frustrated as he was about it. She tried a million things, but the articulation continued to elude him.

But he could hear himself, and practiced anyway. This time, when Hermione came into the room and Lew left him, he tried the speakers. These were the most difficult, but the speakers were obviously capable of rendering the sounds, unlike the rest of the instruments they had tried. It was delicate. First he listened to the rhythms of the audio recorder that Lew had interfaced with one of his trunks, and then he just tried to replicate them into the speaker input. He had never produced anything more illuminating than static noise.

Hermione was lying down now, and Lew was leaning over the back of the bed, with their faces close. Lew was whispering, but this sapling self could not distinguish such soft sounds. And Hermione was gripping Lew's hand, so tightly that it would leave red marks when she released her.

A nurse entered the room, and Lew stood up and moved away from the bed. Lew was wearing strange clothes today. _Muggle_ clothes, she had told him. Her hair was back and she was quiet. He had asked her if she was sad, but she said she was happy. She was beautiful to him, and when she was sad he ached to make her smile.

He listened to another set of speakers Lew had set up. It was reading a story to him. He had lost his spot in the story, but he had stored the memory of the story and fast-forwarded through it, skipping spots the tree had found uninteresting, until he reached the right spot again and listened. Half of what he heard was the roundness of the words. Not creaking or snapping or rustling. How could he make these sounds?

Another person entered the room. Ron Weasley. Michael did not know him well, but he knew at least his name. He stood by the bed as the nurse spoke, and Hermione reached up and held his hand, lightly. When the nurse left, Hermione released him and he stomped over to the corner of the room near Michael and sat heavily. The abrupt motion made Michael's leaves tremble, but Ron did not notice him.

He saw Hermione's head turn back to Lew, and Lew walked back to her, pressing their foreheads together, still whispering. _Lew Lew Lew Lew_ , Michael said to himself. He wished that he was there, too.

Hermione didn't get up from that bed for a long time, though, and Lew never left her side. He became bored, listening to the recording and watching them whisper, so he skipped between houses instead, looking for a conversation to listen to. Looking also for a baby. Lew had told him that they were having a baby. _Sister_.

The nurse finally reappeared, and then left and returned with three more people. They bustled, and Hermione screamed. The sound made him shudder. Ron finally looked at him. He raised an eyebrow and looked back at Hermione, facing away from them. Would he stand again, go over to her?

No. Ron was forgotten. Hermione hadn't released Lew's hand this time, and Lew stayed close to her. There was another bustle and then a squall, unseen. A few long moments after that and the baby was placed in Hermione's arms.

Harry nudged Ron, and Ron finally stood and approached the bed. "Rose Granger," Lew said over the bustle. "Hello." She was crying and smiling, and Michael couldn't see Hermione's face, but he could hear her crying, too. Hermione was turned completely away from Ron, and didn't respond to his approach.

"You are going to need to push again," one of the nurses said. "It might be easier if you give her to her father."

Ron shifted his feet, and Lew picked up the baby, who squalled again. Lew bounced the baby and looked up at Michael. And then the Grangers approached Lew, and she turned away again. It was enough that he wasn't entirely forgotten. The Grangers held the baby and Hermione stood up to let the nurses replace the bedsheets. Lew helped her out of her gown and into a new one, and her hands stilled on Hermione's hips as she wrapped the cords around her. Hermione put her arms around Lew's neck and leaned into her, and they stood there for a few long moments. It was easy to forget that Hermione, too, loved Lew. They pressed their cheeks together and then kissed.

"Memory charm," Harry murmured to Ron. The nurses were watching Hermione and Lew. "And we thought we could get through this without one."

Ron twisted his lip and nodded. They paired off and took the nurses out of the room.

Hermione lay back down and took the baby into her arms. Lew lay in the bed with her, and Michael could barely stand to stay in that room. Why should he even be there at all? They were three, complete. And he was on the windowsill.

He strained at his roots. Lew had warned him not to uproot himself. It was a useless warning, anyway - he couldn't. This sapling was too weak.

"Just a second," Lew said to Hermione. And then she got up and walked to Michael. She touched his trunk.

 _Mother_ , he said to her.

'Son. Michael. I love you.'

_I wish I could be there with you. When I learn to walk, she will love me, too._

'She loves you, Michael,' Lew said.

 _Then she will love me_ more _. I will do it._

Lew shook her head, but just said, 'Do you want to meet your sister?'

_Yes. She speaks?_

Lew released his trunk and picked him up. "She doesn't speak," she said out loud. "Not yet."

Michael was back on the windowsill when the registry official came. "Mother's name? Hermione Granger, I know that one. Alright. And father's name?"

It was a long moment. Hermione opened her mouth and then closed it. It was Lew who spoke. "Ronald Weasley."


	2. Chapter 2

"How does it feel to be thirty?" Hermione asked, propping herself up on her elbow.

"Fantastic. Never been better."

Hermione smiled at her, and then began playing with the ties on Lew's shirt. "Too old to fight, I think."

"You're right. I plan to command my armies remotely, starting today."

"Good." Hermione's smile faded. "Can we talk about something?"

"Sure."

"Harry has insisted that I run." It was the first time that the open election for Minister had been mentioned, but it had hung heavy over their time together anyway.

"Who would run opposing you?" Lew asked her.

Hermione shifted onto her belly and Lew engulfed her body, nuzzling her neck. They had almost achieved full nakedness, and the skin of their legs together was too precious to lose. "Dawlish, maybe, for the Resistance."

"Hmm," Lew murmured. Hermione already knew Lew's opinion about the Ministry's continued complacence. Their disagreement was moderated by Lew's conviction that Hermione knew politics better than she did, and the futility of the Resistance's efforts so far. "Dawlish isn't part of the Resistance."

"Right," Hermione agreed. "There's some speculation that Harry or McGonagall might win accidentally."

"They can just refuse, right?"

"It wouldn't start the new leadership on a good foot, though. If either won, I would encourage them to accept."

"They have that collar on James. Everyone knows it." A device used on Muggle criminals, which had essentially eliminated Harry Potter from the Resistance. Lew thought the collar was worse than the Trace. At least the Trace was wizards tracking other wizards. And to use it on a child was an intolerable abuse.

"And I am unmarried and unattached, officially. They could put the collar on Rose at any time."

Lew frowned. "Yes, but -"

Hermione turned abruptly to face Lew. "We need a leader to unite the Resistance and the public. I can't think of anyone better."

The fierceness cowed Lew and woke Rose from her nap. Hermione let Lew rock her back into slumber, watching them with thoughtful eyes. She brought Rose to one of their safehouses twice a week, and often left her for a day or longer with Lew. She was a fragile two months, though, and the time together was always too short.

Lew stroked Rose's already-shorn head. She had been born with jet black hair. A daughter Lew never thought she'd have, and the baby that Hermione had longed for. When they were together like this, it felt like the plan they had laid out in the cabin last year had actually happened. Except that when morning came, Hermione had to leave, and Lew could not follow her.

When Lew lay Rose back in her rocker, she had an answer ready. "There _is_ nobody better. You have to win."

Hermione's eyes softened. "Thank you."

Lew raised an eyebrow. "For stating the obvious? "

"I - there is already enough against me."

"Nothing that you can't beat," Lew said seriously.

"If I run, I won't risk losing."

Lew took a deep breath. "But you aren't going to run under a name other than Granger."

This statement elicited a surprised smile. "No," Hermione agreed. She stood up and put her hand on Lew's naked hip. "Cunningham?"

Lew laughed. "That wouldn't help you, Hermione." The Wizarding World would sooner accept Ron Weasley's lover than a lesbian. Associating Ron with Hermione's public persona had only helped so far. And obviously, Lew could never appear in a public ceremony, or in any records at all.

Hermione was still smiling, her head tilted back. Lew said, "I would rather your name, anyway. It works way better."

"Lucy Granger," Hermione said experimentally. "Hermione Cunningham."

"See? Too long."

"How have we not talked about this yet?" Hermione seemed almost giddy at the thought.

"You want to marry?" It was news to Lew.

"Maybe I do," Hermione said shyly.

Lew fell to her knee. The image must have been strange, with the pair of them nearly entirely naked. "Hermione Jean Granger, would you possibly consider marrying me in the distant future after you save the world again?"

Hermione slapped her shoulder playfully. "Did you have to make that into a joke?"

"But I'm so unprepared. I thought it would buy me time."

"Awful," Hermione said, but she was laughing. "Terrible human being."

"You like me terrible."

"I like you nice."

Lew carried her to the bed and finally lost her shirt.

* * *

Lew had heard that Neville Longbottom was bullied at Hogwarts. The man before her did not seem like the type. He turned the button over in his hand, and it glowed a fierce white. "We've been trying _not_ to give them magical items."

"Have they asked for this? What else have they asked for?" It was dim in the room. A solitary electric light hung on a long cord from the ceiling, illuminating the steel table. She had told him it was the Resistance's base, and she had to make it convincing.

"Sure, they've asked for this. They've also asked for Invisibility Cloaks. We told them they didn't exist, but Edward of course called it a lie and now they're going nuts over it." Edward was the collaborating wizard, an irritating and inane man, fully incapable of understanding what he had done.

"Dumb. The weapon will disenchant them." Except if they were using them in the Arab states. Lew often forgot that the British government was engaged with more than one insurgency.

"Yep," Neville agreed. "Also, they confiscated nearly all of Ollivander's collection from Alex."

"What, are they trying to limit the supply of wands?"

"No idea. They're really looking for a way to digitize the Trace, of course. Good thing Edward knows nothing about The Trace. Percy is keeping it pretty lean."

The topic distracted Lew. "Do you have his ear? Is there any way he could remove the Trace from Hermione? Just for particular places, or times, or something?"

"I don't know." Neville looked like he didn't want to say it, but he did. "They're keeping really close tabs on all the Department Heads."

Lew grunted and paced away. "Can you ask him, anyway?"

"Why don't you?"

"Bill said to steer clear. He said Percy doesn't know I'm involved."

"Everyone knows about the Raven." Lew turned to see Neville smiling faintly.

Lew flicked her wrist. "Whatever. So you think it will be too powerful to gift them?"

"The question is, will Michael be able to keep up?"

Lew pulled out one of the chairs and sat heavily on it, and Neville followed suit. "He's been pretty good, so far. Obviously it's easier if he can focus on one or two. I think the hard part for him is going to be prioritizing the information. I might have to work with him to sort it out. But it's the best chance we have to gather real intel, I think."

 _I want to help!_ Michael chimed in. Lew heard him through the slabs of deadwood she now wore along her thighs. And Neville dropped the rowan button in surprise. Michael, after six years, had finally figured out the reverse _lingua_ spell, and abused it regularly.

Neville recovered from the shock quickly. "We will tell them that the button has to be outward-facing, or it won't work."

"I mean… it _does_." The button on the table had already faded back to wood. She passed her hand over it, and it glowed again. Then she took out a handkerchief, unfolded it a few times, and covered the button with it, leaving enough room so that Neville could still see the button. She passed her hand over it again, and it remained dull. "Direction matters, that's why I chose this enchantment. Plus, the minute they hit a field, it will be disenchanted. I bet they will get lazy and not remove some of them. Free information. "

Neville sighed. "It's a big price to pay, though. So far, we've had the option of going undercover, as a group. If we give them this, they won't let it go, and they will be able to find us, no matter where we hide."

"But we're blind right now, and they'll never suspect that it could be used to spy on them. Every enchantment is stripped by the field. And I doubt Edward will be able to figure out how I did it." _Or sense Michael in the button._ It was a bigger risk than Lew was admitting.

"It's up to you, boss."

Lew looked at him for a few long moments. "What does that mean?"

"I'll do it, if you really think Michael can keep up."

"No. Why did you call me boss?"

Neville rolled his eyes at her. "Anything else? How many do you have for me? And who's going to Memory Charm me?"

Lew decided to drop it. "I've got ten. That should be enough to start. And Barbara's outside." She whispered, 'Ready, Michael?'

_Yes! This is going to be fun._

* * *

_Hermione Granger,_ the phone read. But this wasn't a direct call on the phone. Underneath the name was a clarification. _Conference Call._ Lew accepted the call and sprawled against Michael's trunk.

Hermione was resplendent, even on the phone's tiny screen. "Thank you, to those who are able to attend. I hope that I will deserve the immense honor of the office for which you have elected me." Hermione imparted both heartfelt sincerity and a sense of greater purpose. "For those listening, I would like to emphasize the fact that this network is completely secure and Untraceable. Anyone can add themselves at any time by placing a call to my name. If you would like to log a question, press the button on the phone and you will be connected with a representative. I will address the questions as they come in. Do not hesitate to log a question.

"We now face a problem that we have dreaded throughout history. As the philosopher and historian Farrow noted in 500 BC, 'The Untouched wish for magic as man has always lusted for the unachievable, and would take it by force if it were ever in his power. Second only to achieving, though, is to deny.' We have spent the two thousand years since thinking that such a feat was impossible."

'Michael? Are you paying attention?'

_Yes, yes. 'Such a feat was impossible.'_

'What feat was she talking about?'

Michael paused. _Denying._

'Pay attention, Michael.'

"We were wrong. Rather than keep pace with Muggle technology, since the Statute of Secrecy we have enforced a strict separation from our brethren." Hermione had spent last night agonizing over this word. She had finally kept it in the speech. The voting electorate had chosen her, after all, a Muggleborn. She could pretend to be a part of the wizarding community, and would. But part of the reason that she was elected was that she _was_ born of Muggles. The rest of the reason was that nobody else electable wanted the job.

"And because we have been so separate, we have lost pace with them. These phones are only one representation of the many technological achievements that the Muggles have made - achievements that we can replicate and adapt, given time and need. But their military accomplishments are far greater than this, if you can imagine it." Hermione paused here, and Lew felt as if she was looking directly at her, so intense was her stare. "I cannot emphasize to you enough that this is a tipping point in our relations with Muggles. You probably already know someone who has either volunteered for the Muggle Army, or who has otherwise experienced The Weapon firsthand. This is a very real technology, and we must remain united as we continue to work with the Muggle Ministry and Army to maintain peace and prosperity. _It could be worse_." Hermione's lips were thin, an angry line in her otherwise calm exterior.

"I will read some questions now. The first is, 'What is the Ministry's stance on the Resistance?' Thank you for participating." Hermione's eyebrow ticked upward. "The Ministry does not acknowledge the existence of any organization, wizarding or otherwise, by that name. Next question. 'Where is…'" She paused and her eyes flicked upward, beyond the display. Then she cleared her throat. "'Where is Lew Cunningham?' Unfortunately, Lew Cunningham disappeared shortly after her trial with the Aurors, and we haven't been able to locate her since then. My understanding is that the Aurors granted her an indefinite leave of absence before the dissolution.

"Alright. 'Is Shacklebolt really dead?' Again, unfortunately, it appears that the Kingsley Shacklebolt was involved in an accident, maybe involving the - The Weapon. All of the Department Heads were shown his body, just before the open election. 'How can I join the Resistance?'" Hermione frowned. "I would like to point out, again, that the Ministry does not acknowledge an organization by that name." She raised her eyebrow again. "A phone can be registered under _any_ name, by the way. We will take additional questions at the Ministry of Magic's phone line. I hope to see you all again next week." She cut off the connection abruptly.

* * *

It was night. Lew was in Diagon Alley under polyjuice, and Dave was calling her. The street was almost deserted. Those who shopped in such an obvious location did so with their hoods up and their pace quick. Lew had always felt exposed in Diagon Alley, and it seemed the sentiment had spread.

Lew picked up the call. Dave's chin was covered in the peach fuzz of adolescence, streaked in blood. "They're here," he whispered, under the heavy din of military helicopters and the scattered fire of automatic rifles. "I am hiding. What should I do?"

Dave was on the shift watching the stolen weapons. "Fuck. Stay hidden. I will be there in a second." Where had the blood come from? "Where exactly are you?"

"Near the machine gun. They haven't spotted it, I think."

"Don't do anything stupid." _That's for me._ But before she cut off the connection, he said, "John took that potion he's been talking about. He almost pulled down one of the 'copters before they put him down."

Polyjuice was almost completely immune to the field, just as it was immune to detection or dispelling - or the Trace. In this way it was similar to shifting, except that a wizard under Polyjuice turned back into their original shape when the time was up. That is, if the Polyjuice was for a human shape.

"OK," Lew said, and Dave hung up. Should she send out a call to the whole group? Only unregistered members could come, because they would have to Apparate, which would reveal the registered wizards' identities. That made fifteen of them, half of whom would likely not take the call.

John had been registered. Had he accidentally done magic, and had the Muggles already been watching him? Or had the Muggles put some sort of tracking device on one of the weapons?

There was no time to think. Lew didn't even know if the situation was salvageable. She looked around, confirming that nobody was close enough to follow her, and then she Apparated directly onto the grassy hill with the machine gun.

There were four helicopters, and men dangled on cables from the helicopters' bellies, attaching hooks to the weapons and hauling them up. Two of the eight weapons had already disappeared into the helicopters. Lew could clearly see the hulking remains of John's body on the otherwise flat plain. He had said it was real dragon's blood. It seemed he was right.

Easier to kill the men, but Lew probably had only a few shots. She used an accuracy charm, focusing on the nearly imperceptible hairline fissure of the nearest helicopter's armor nearest the fuel tank, finding the spot. Then she found the fissure in the second helicopter. She could feel Dave's eyes on her, but as he'd said they paid no attention to the gun on the hill.

She got off only two shots before she found out that wasn't true. They had left a mine near the gun. The explosion tossed her into the air and made a crater in the hill, but again her skin absorbed the fire and heat, saving her. Dave couldn't have been so lucky. As she fell, they caught her in the weapon's beam, and she hit the ground hard, rolling onto her shoulder. Then the spotlight found her, and for a dazed moment Lew imagined that the halo of light came from the weapon, that the spotlight deprived her of both privacy and of the magic.

The helicopter she hit a few seconds ago exploded. With the wash of heat the beam of light lost her again, and she Disapparated.

* * *

"They're executing Hussein," Lew said to Hermione. The air in the tent was humid; Lew's tent had never been particularly water-proof, and these rains had somehow penetrated every layer of protection they had, magical and mundane alike. The lantern-light from the dining area set the cot and their bodies in golden shadow.

Lew's breath misted in the space between their faces, and Hermione crinkled her nose. "Would you wait for just a few minutes?"

"Oh. Sorry," Lew said, and she rolled onto her side. Hermione followed her, burying her face in Lew's chest.

"You're too sweaty," Hermione complained. "It's November. Your tent sucks."

"Sorry," Lew apologized again.

"I don't think it will change anything. It's in such chaos. I did visit last month."

Lew pulled away in surprise. "You _visited_? When were you going to tell me?"

Hermione shrugged and stretched, pulling away from Lew. "You know they won't stop wanting magic, even if the coalition withdraws from Iraq tomorrow."

"Yeah, but maybe if they weren't sending magical items along with the troops, the spread would be… slower. The problem really isn't working with the Army, or giving them their stupid Invisibility Cloaks. It's when we're fighting each other that it gets ugly. You didn't hear whether the, whatever, the sectarian groups have their own wizards, did you?"

"Not… specifically. I think it's hard for them to spot. But why would they? Only Britain and the US have the weapon," Hermione said. "I mean, the impacts are felt everywhere. The president of Bulgaria told me that literally half of the wizarding population of Bulgaria has gone underground, even though I don't think that anybody's going after them. But they have those indicators now - um - buttons, so… I can't even imagine what that might mean. The US might start trying to harvest wizards from other countries."

Lew shifted uncomfortably. What little wizarding infrastructure America had imploded on itself last year, after the weapon was unveiled. The Academy of Alchemy shut down almost immediately, and the magical stores, already scattered and disorganized, either relocated or closed. Presumably this meant that America had been less successful than Britain at recruiting wizards on a voluntary basis.

Voluntary wizards were doubtless far more valuable than reluctant ones, but even reluctant wizards could be useful for some purposes. Lew remembered the herbalist she'd always visited in New Orleans. The woman had admitted to her, one day, that she could not Apparate. Lew suspected that more wizards did not Apparate, than did. Whether they could under duress was another matter, of course, but the issue remained. And the collar that kept Harry Potter from acting was another brutal alternative.

Lew hadn't known that the Bulgarians had fragmented, but she did know that Bulgaria was known for the sophistication of their wizarding government. If Bulgarian wizards were hiding… everyone must be hiding. "Does the Muggle Bulgarian government know about magic, then?"

"Tony said that he and Bush are keeping it very hush-hush," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "Chirac certainly knows."

"Who is that?"

"The President of France, Lew."

"Who cares about France?"

"Well, America might give the French the weapon in exchange for access to their wizards. For example."

"Huh. Is Beauxbatons still running?"

"Sputtering, I think, according to McGonagall. I think the French wizards aren't feeling very threatened by the government, but they can see what's happened in America and Britain. I'm guessing that - I think it will depend on whether the Ministry of Magic can stave off real abuse. If we're able to stay independently governed, and if our wizards aren't being taken by force, hopefully it will encourage the French to stay organized, too."

"But we're so vulnerable."

"We can't discard the trappings of civilization, Lew. If we all went underground, Hogwarts would have to close. We would lose access to our libraries, by and large. Right now everything's still intact. If we stay together, it's easier to take us by force, but… we're stronger, too. And we're still fighting, aren't we? When the Resistance finds an answer to the weapon, we will be ready. And you're using the libraries, right?" Hermione's argument ran along the same track that she had taken since the beginning. Lew wondered suddenly whether her voice had dictated the Ministry's decision to stay intact. But no, that didn't make sense - as long as the wizards of Britain stayed somewhat together and organized, they would need a Ministry to govern them. The two fed off each other. She wondered how many Department Heads had advocated non-cooperation. Three had quit with Shacklebolt.

"Right," Lew agreed, reluctantly. She thought of their daughter, staying the night at the Potters'. "But the Trace…" Had Hermione explicitly consented to the expansion of the Trace? Lew hadn't considered the possibility before.

"They're not doing anything with the information, though. They just asked for it."

Hermione _was_ a little defensive. Lew gave her a dubious look and stood. "Yet we are going to great lengths not to revisit a location that _might_ be in their files. Obviously you don't believe that they wouldn't use the information."

"It's just a precaution."

"Sure." Lew went into the kitchen and put on some water, and Hermione watched her from the bed. Lew chopped with excessive vigor. _Just a precaution._ In case the Muggles were following Hermione. In case they already knew about Lew, and would try to kill her if they found her. In case they discovered Hermione and Lew meeting each other, that the Minister of Magic was communicating with the Resistance.

Lew felt her shoulders compress under the weight of her paranoia. She knew that they weren't being careful enough. But to be more careful would be unlivable. It had been just one year since the first demonstration of the weapon. One endless, intolerable year.


	3. Chapter 3

Lew walked quickly through the tall grass of the meadow. It was spring, and the air was thick with pollen. This time, they had set up a tent a few miles away from the place Hermione had met her, which was yet a few more miles away from the grove that was their ultimate destination.

"Do you want to know what the most common question is, every single week?" Hermione asked her while they walked.

"Yeah," Lew said. Her mind had been on Dave and John. Brooding. It was not a good feeling.

"It's always about you. Not Harry, or even Shacklebolt, or Neville. They all know you're out here, fighting."

Lew smiled grimly. "And they know you know where I am."

"It makes me worry we were less clever than we thought, with Rose."

"Has anyone asked you about her?"

"Not directly, no. I don't know. Maybe it's better that the people know - the illusion is just for the British government, anyway. But we are turning against each other, so maybe it's all the same. Isn't that the true power of The Weapon? To make us fear each other?"

"No. The true power of the weapon is that it strips us of our dignity, of our right to choose."

"It makes us Muggles."

"Wizards are Muggles from the Stone Age, Hermione. And there are so few of us. If it took the magic away permanently, that would be better. Instead, the weapon collars us - makes _us_ into a weapon, to be pointed at any enemy. An unstoppable force. Neville told me -"

"Stop. You know I can't hear what the people in the Army are doing."

Lew sighed sharply, snapping her jaw shut and clenching it. _Neville told me they have got him practicing against nuclear warheads, with another wizard opposing him, protecting the nuke. So Russia has wizards now, too. Putin finally found a cheap way to become a world power again._ Hermione probably already knew that. Tony Blair actually seemed to like Hermione quite a bit. But if she knew, wouldn't she have told Lew?

They walked in tense silence to the model. "Michael was able to recreate the compound, in the places we were able to - see." Details, always important, that Hermione did not want to hear. "It was really amazing. He used deadwood to create the model. It sounds like it's actually easier for him to manipulate, in some ways, than the wood that's live."

Hermione nodded. "Think about transfiguration, how much easier it is to transfigure something that's not alive."

"Huh. I didn't think of that." Lew hadn't thought that Michael was performing transfiguration on _himself_. But wasn't he a wizard, too? Yet the weapon didn't work on him. Another detail that Lew couldn't share with Hermione.

"So I was hoping that you could just look at this, and given limitless resources, how would you approach the compound?" A miniaturized Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory, steroidal with Marines. Lew picked up the roof of a central building and showed Hermione rooms and corridors, some empty, most filled in with wood. Unknowns. She picked up the first layer and revealed the second level, and then the third. "We think the weapon is being manufactured here." She indicated a room.

Hermione studied the model. "You made this, Michael?" she said finally. They were speaking out loud to him now. He liked to hear the way that each person said the words. He was still struggling with his speakers, and insisted that hearing the spoken words in their different voices helped him.

 _Yes!_ Michael said. _I'm making a new self, too._

Lew winced. She hadn't had the heart to tell Michael to keep that from Hermione, and of course he brought it up the first chance that he had.

"A new… self?"

_Do you want to see?_

"I… yes, I would love to see." Hermione shot Lew a bewildered look.

'I told you he's been experimenting with deadwood.' Lew touched Hermione's mind, so that Michael couldn't hear.

'He can make it move?'

'Somewhat,' Lew said. Right. That was an important detail.

Lew led Hermione through the grove. It occurred to her for the first time that maybe this was why Michael had built his new self in this grove. It had seemed less safe than the still-secure location of his host tree. But Hermione couldn't go there.

Hermione walked slowly behind Lew, and Lew slowed her pace to match, trying to think of the right words to moderate her expectations without denigrating Michael's effort. It wasn't that the model was bad, exactly. It was just his first try at it. It was a good idea, in theory. Michael didn't know that the lack of a body was the root of Hermione's disappointment. Or did he?

Hermione approached the body with an unreadable expression. Her hand fell on the spindly cage, boy-shaped, layered in some places with bark, some in fresh leaves, some in dried flower petals. Bone and sinew and muscle, all of rowan. The face was the least finished, just a blank frame of brittle twigs. Lew wasn't sure how tall a seven-year-old boy would stand, but it seemed close to her.

Hermione touched him on his shoulder. When he moved, Hermione jumped and her hand almost fell. But by some effort, she kept her hand on him. Her eyes flickered, and Lew wondered what she had said to him. She stood stock-still as Michael's arms slowly reached out and wrapped lightly around her thighs. The dried leaves fluttered off his frame. Hermione put her arms around his shoulders.

"It's lovely, Michael," Hermione whispered. "You _are_ real. You don't need to do this." She smiled through the tears. "She's good at walking. But she -" Hermione bit her lip and fell silent. Had Michael interrupted her? Lew waited. "I _do_ love you." Lew could almost hear his outpouring of hope. "You're too precious to let anyone see you, Michael." Her lips thinned, the same expression of disapproval that Lew endured every time she implied bodily risk to herself. This time it was reasonable. Lew could overlay an illusion over the boy's frame, but the weapon would strip that protection away and reveal the model for what it was. And Michael still couldn't really speak. "Maybe after Lew -" Hermione's eyes raised, meeting Lew's. "After we destroy The Weapon." A thing that would never happen.

Hermione dropped to her knees through the loose embrace of Michael's twigs. "You _are_ my son, Michael." She searched the empty face as if it was the child's. "You must stop thinking that I want you to be anything other than what you are." She said the words as if she had said them a million times before. Michael did not believe her. But for the first time, Lew almost did.

* * *

Rose was gripping her smooth strip of rowan wood tightly. "Walk!" she commanded. "Walk, Mike, walk!"

Michael lurched forward, and fell. His arms weren't quick enough to catch himself, and a few of the twigs in his ribs and face shattered against the icy ground. Lew winced. It had been a race to the winter, which Michael seemed to have lost. He was always slower after he lost his leaves.

Rose was not discouraged. "Get up, Mike. Don't cry." Familiar words to a toddler. Michael didn't speak to Lew. She felt intrusive, suddenly.

"Will you watch her, Michael?" she asked quietly.

 _Yes,_ he said, and she walked to the cabin, which she had built here last year. He added, _She's watching me, I think_. At least he could joke about it.

Lew lay on the bed and considered the ceiling. This new project had consumed Michael. He said he was storing the information from the buttons, but it was too much to process if he spent hours each day on this body.

 _He's only seven years old_ , she reminded herself. He didn't seem like a child, though. It was easy to forget that he was so young. If the body was what he wanted to focus on, she couldn't ask him to stop, no matter how impatient she was.

Her fingers itched for a gun. She considered Apparating to the shooting range, but it seemed irresponsible, for some reason. It wasn't like she was any farther away here, really. If Michael said something was wrong, she would Apparate from the cabin just as she would from the shooting range.

And if she found the weapon at the shooting range? She wouldn't be able to Apparate at all. A well of helpless frustration rose in her chest. She hated feeling trapped. She hated being paranoid. She hated the fucking Memory Charm and every time they had to use it on one of their allies. And she hated the weapon most of all.

They hadn't stolen any more since the attack last year, and so had nothing to practice on. Had the Muggles taken them to deprive the Resistance of information? No. They could have bombed the location. The weapon must have some expensive or rare component. She wished she'd tried to take another one of them apart, more carefully. They _had_ to know what it was made of. Michael still hadn't been inside that room at Lawrence Livermore.

Or maybe he had, and hadn't noticed yet. Lew stood and began pacing. She wished for Hermione. They hadn't done the Memory Charm on her yet, but maybe it was a good time to start. Hermione would know what to do, given all the information. Hermione would have a plan. Hell, _Harry Potter_ would have a plan. It was too much pressure, to be the only one who had all the pieces. Marco hadn't registered, either. Why did it have to be Lew that spoke with Neville, Lew that coordinated Resistance stings with Ministry policies? It wasn't just that Marco was better at screening new recruits. He could do that, and lead the Resistance at the same time.

 _The Raven._ What a stupid name. _The Resistance._ Who named their organization the _Resistance?_ An organization without a leader, obviously.

Not that Lew wanted to follow Marco. Nobody wanted to follow Marco. He smelled too bad.

They should get that collar off James, and the Potter family should go underground. And then the Weasleys would have to, and maybe Rose and Hermione, and it would be a huge deal _._ Hermione didn't want to cause a stir until Lew had a way of dealing with the weapon.

Hermione _wanted_ them to fight. She was counting on Lew to figure out how.

 _Fuck fuck fuck fuck_.

 _What's wrong, Lew?_ It was Michael.

'Nothing,' Lew said to him. 'Just stressed.'

_Come get Rose, then._

'Yeah,' Lew agreed. 'Good idea.'

* * *

Hermione stood at the podium, addressing a paltry crowd of about three dozen. She'd told Lew that the Muggles insisted the announcement be made in public, in the open air, so there they were in Diagon Alley, on a small wooden stage. But nobody wanted to be in public any more, especially in the dead of winter. Hermione's weekly phone audience was ten times this number.

Edward was standing smugly off to the side. Four Muggle military men surrounded him, and just beside him there was the weapon. Drones circled the arena. It was the first time that Edward had made a public appearance. The choice seemed odd to Lew. But then, this was the first overt political interference since the dissolution of the Aurors two years ago.

Lew flew to the stage and shifted just outside of the weapon's range. It was a bit of a fall to the stage, but she caught herself easily. This close up, the pistol trumped the men's rifles. They hesitated. She didn't.

Edward's hand came out of his pocket with his wand in it, uselessly. Lew shot his hand, and he dropped the wand, howling. A sniper bullet bit through her vest and partway through her side.

"Step off the stage," she said to Edward and Hermione, keeping her gun on Edward. The drones dropped to level, and Lew heard the whiz-ping of another sniper bullet. She felt no pain, and she did not flinch.

They both did as she said, and she pried the outer case off the weapon with a small crowbar she had brought for the purpose. It exploded spectacularly, making the stage splinter and collapse. The four bodies lolled wildly and burned. "Alright. You're coming with me." She grabbed the back of Edward's neck as she would a child's, deflecting the hail of bullets from the drones and snipers. "You don't make laws. _That's_ the Minister of Magic, not you, you slimy piece of shit. I will kill him if you occupy Hogwarts," she said to the drones, and then she Disapparated with Edward.

* * *

Hermione, predictably, was furious. "I hadn't even made the announcement yet."

"So it wasn't law yet, right?"

"So you have collaborators on the inside. It implicates me," Hermione said fiercely. "You are. So. Stupid."

Lew shrugged. "I'd been meaning to snatch him the first chance I got, anyway."

"If you were trying to make a statement, I would have thought you'd bring more people. But you know what, Lew? Everyone liked that even more. As if you're some kind of lone vigilante. Do you know what kind of questions I got last night? I had Fiona post-screen them before they got to me."

"What questions?" Lew asked. Eventually Hermione would run out of steam and start to be reasonable.

"Someone asked a question about Michael, Lew."

Lew's blood ran cold. "What? Who?"

"The rumor's been out there for a long time, since the bounty. We obviously thought he was alive. And with you back, and defending Hogwarts, they think you've been taking care of him."

"Ridiculous," Lew said softly. "I am not the motherly type."

Hermione laughed, a little hysterically. "Except it's true."

"Well, I mean, I can't just give Edward back now, right? I am going to get Marco to interrogate him. I bet he knows what's in the weapon."

"That wasn't even the worst part. You specifically deferred to _me_. You made it sound like the Resistance acknowledges the authority of the Ministry. They're going to put the collar on Rose."

"Oh," Lew said. She tried to wrap her arms around Hermione, but Hermione pushed her away, pinning her in a glare. "I wasn't speaking for the Resistance," she offered finally.

"Of course you weren't. You were just tottering around like a blind idiot and saying whatever came to mind. But you have to know that it _sounded_ like the leader of the Resistance."

"I didn't ask for this job."

"But you have it. Stop messing up mine."

"Well," Lew said, and sat down, resting her head on her hands. She thought that she was helping Hermione. If people felt intimidated, they would be more likely to radicalize, to join Lew rather than supporting the Ministry. Apparently Lew had miscalculated. "What should I have done?"

" _Not_ that." Hermione sighed and knelt in front of Lew. "It's good that you have Edward, though. You're right. Hopefully this will be the break we've been waiting for."

"Yeah," Lew said, and dropped her hands from her face, trying not to squint. "Can I see Rose one more time?"

"I think the collar won't change much. We were already being careful."

"But now they will know exactly where she is, whether you use magic or not. What if they find us together?"

"Then I guess it will force our hand," Hermione said resolutely. "I am not going to be without you again. If we have to run, we run."

* * *

"You're afraid of them," Harry said to Edward.

"And you're not? The famous Harry Potter, in chains? It was easy enough to break you, once you had a family." A surprisingly acute observation. Harry Potter's love for his family had won the Second Wizarding War, but this was not that war. Last time, it had been Hermione that gave up her family to defeat Voldemort. Given the choice, Lew suspected that Harry would not have done the same.

"That's what you think, Edward," Harry said smugly. Lew sat down and rested her chin on her interlaced fingers, watching them through the one-sided mirror. The third iteration was usually the most illuminating.

Edward fidgeted. "You're broken," he repeated. "You haven't run for office. You're letting Lew Cunningham -"

"Letting her do my dirty work," Harry interrupted. "She was perfect for the job of retrieving you. An icon. She couldn't run the Resistance, even if I let her."

"Oh," Edward said. "Then why haven't you declared for the Resistance? You could take that collar off any time."

"I find my position valuable, let's just say." Harry let this ambiguous statement sink in, and then he said, "I can make your life a lot more comfortable if you cooperate. If you don't cooperate, I'm going to let Lew do her worst."

Lew ground her teeth. Harry, it transpired, was _terrible_ at intimidation. They might as well pull him out and hit Edward again with a Memory Charm. She got up and went to the door, giving Marco a look.

Edward's next statement stopped her. "What on earth could I tell you that you don't already know?"

That was new. Harry said, "You're right. We've got sources on the inside, and our capabilities are limitless." He paused. "We know what the weapon is made of, Edward."

"Then you know how hopeless it is to try to stop them. Maybe before the weapon, you could have restricted the supply. But they've got the weapon everywhere now. And you know they're only going to keep improving it."

"Improving the material?"

Edward frowned. "No, improving the weapon. When we first discovered it, all I had -" he interrupted himself. "Why do you think it's possible to improve the material? It's - oh. You don't really know anything."

Marco cast the Memory Charm on him a few moments later, and he slumped over. They convened in a different room.

"How are you doing, Potter? Holding up?"

Harry gulped coffee and stretched. "The worst is the beginning, the business with the collar. But pretending to head the Resistance is pretty satisfying."

Lew snorted. "I don't think we should do this more than one or two more times. The Memory Charm is kind of dangerous."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, and sat on one of the ratty old couches. Lew recalled sex on that couch, when this really was the base of the Resistance, before Rose was born. She could still remember what Hermione had said. _You're not going to leave me._ It had been a command, not a request. Hermione didn't care that Lew wouldn't attend receptions or dinners with her. She'd only asked once. But to have Lew truly withdraw from the Wizarding world had scared her more than she'd admitted. Only that couch knew how much.

"So they were using the material for something else, before, but it's very rare."

"It has to be uranium," Lew said. "I'm going to go to the National Science Laboratory in Los Alamos and see."

"Not alone," Harry said carefully. "It's got to be crawling with the army. You're guaranteed to lose magic the minute you get anywhere close." This was the reason Lew hadn't visited Lawrence Livermore yet. None of her collaborators agreed with her that it was worth the risk, and Lew had determined that she wouldn't act without at least one approval. And they certainly couldn't take either location by force.

Marco said, "Wouldn't it be easier to find uranium and test it?"

Lew considered this. "It's very radioactive. The problem would be getting close enough to a tiny amount, small enough not to kill you, and unshielded, I guess. Or with a specific kind of shield? Jeez," she blew out a breath. "I suppose we should steal some nuclear energy experts and figure that out. The security would be lower at a power plant, for sure." Magic had no answer for cancer, but Lew decided mentioning that wouldn't add much.

"And if it's not uranium?" Harry said. "We should talk about this now, because I don't think you should pull me again very soon. I know everything now. What will you do if the weapon isn't even at Los Alamos?"

"Yeah," Lew said. She erased the first whiteboard on the wall and wrote, "Uranium is the weapon," and two lines labeled "Yes" and "No." Then she turned to Harry and Marco. " Scenarios. Help me."

* * *

"You have such pretty hair," Lew told Rose. They were looking in the mirror, and Lew was applying the bleaching solution to her roots. Rose's hair was fine and frizzy and nearly convincingly red.

Rose clapped her hands. She was stripped down to her diaper, and Lew had the fire roaring. It was so hot that Lew herself had to take off everything but her undershirt.

Rose held still and patient until the end, accustomed to the procedure. "You want to take a bath?" Lew asked her when she finished.

Rose ran over to the edge of the tub and peered in as Lew washed her hands. "No! No bath!" she yelled. Thus the diaper; Rose hated baths.

"Shower?" Lew sat cross-legged on the floor.

Rose smiled at her and ran around her back. She was a far more confident runner than she was a walker. "No!" she yelled, and Lew caught her as she passed. Rose flung herself backwards across Lew's lap, and Lew reflexively caught her head. The solution went all over her fingers again. "Mike not take bath."

"Mike cleans himself, every day." It was sort of true. He certainly took pains to maintain himself.

Rose giggled. "No," she argued.

"You know we have to take a bath on Hair Day," Lew reminded her. It was every week, usually. After a week the job needed a covering charm, at least, and Rose was constantly exposed to the weapon.

What a different life she would lead, if this continued. Could Hogwarts stay open? Lew knew that Hermione's greatest hope was to see Rose at the school. They had eight and a half years left. Surely McGonagall could keep Hogwarts open that long.

Rose put her arms around Lew's neck, and Lew picked her up with one arm, moving back to the sink to rinse her fingers again. The solution started burning after a while. It was unpleasant, but necessary. Appearances must be maintained.

Rose looked at them together in the mirror again. Her hand went up to the collar, touching its familiar contours, a habit now. "Lew," she said contemplatively.

"Rose," Lew said back to her, kissing her soft cheek. "I love you."

"Love you!" Rose shrieked, and then she turned in Lew's arms to look behind them. "Bath now."

Lew checked the clock. "Yep," she said. "How do you always know?"

It was a few hours later, after dark, that Hermione finally came back to the cabin from the grove. Lew was drifting and Rose was fully asleep, nestled against her chest.

"She wouldn't go to sleep alone again?" Hermione asked as she stripped down. It was mid-summer, the fire had just begun dying down, and it was hellishly hot.

Lew shrugged in response. Rose had reached a level of obstinacy that Lew had not imagined possible from a child, but Lew had not tried as hard as she probably should have.

"Here," Hermione said, moving to pick Rose up.

Lew shook her head and kept her arm around Rose, so Hermione laid in bed and put her arm around both of them. "Maybe I want you for myself," Hermione murmured.

"Just an hour longer," Lew said, and Hermione kissed her forehead. An hour later they were both asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

'How was today?'

'Fine,' Hermione responded, after a very long pause. 'Arthur Weasley put on a great show. Impossible to know what Putin was thinking, but there is no way they have anything comparable to the Ministry in Russia.' The Soviet Union had cracked down brutally on witchcraft during World War II, and most of the Wizarding population fled to Finland.

'Do you think it will help?'

'Do you mean, will he back off on Crimea?' Lew could hear the gears turning in Hermione's head, snatches of her inner thoughts. _American army, Lew only cares if there are nukes involved, spheres of influence, I was right about the Ministry collaboration, Putin is insane, this is hopeless_. 'For now, yes, I think. He's going to test the waters. He has to see how his wizards measure up against ours. I'm guessing a proxy war in Africa or South America.'

'And Cameron?'

'Not so bad. It would have been easier if they had a history together. But good that Bush stayed away.'

'I guess so. Why did he?'

'I think they decided it would distract from the focus of the visit. He's about to leave office, anyway.'

Lew adjusted the range on her rifle and then placed it back on the rack. She drew her pistol as fast as she could and then shot three targets in quick succession. Medium range, close range, long range. The last bullet went wide.

'I guess there's nothing we can do but keep going and wait for something to explode.'

'That's all the Resistance can do, yes,' Hermione said. 'Unless you wanted to kidnap Putin, too.'

Lew grumbled. 'And have it backfire as badly as kidnapping Edward? I don't think so.'

'It's something to consider.'

Lew felt a smile creep up. 'Is that a deployment?'

'Absolutely not,' Hermione said instantly.

'I'm pretty sure it's the army's job to deal with Putin, not mine.'

 _Lew only cares about nuclear holocaust._ 'Listen, I have to go. Rose is eating something blue.'

'Tell her Lew says only eat red or green things.'

'I will not.' Another long pause. 'Molly fed her beets last week and I almost had a heart attack.'

'Treacherous woman.'

* * *

 _The enemy is stirring again,_ Michael told Lew.

'What do you want to do?'

_Can you go to Tree 2470?_

Lew cast her recollection spell. She understood that the spell was taught only in the fifth year at Hogwarts, just before the wizards were allowed to leave school in England. At the Academy of Alchemy, it was one of the first spells the children were taught. She understood why they waited at Hogwarts; it was an easily abused spell, and unsuited to learning. Something memorized was not understood, and ultimately the storage of memories could be maxed out and the wizard would be unable to store new memories - a debilitating condition. There was no reversing the recollection spell.

But it was useful for some things. The massive map that Hermione made had long ago faded into white, and Lew stored it in the witch's cottage. Michael didn't need it any more.

Tree 2470 was in Greece, so Lew Apparated to Athens and flew. It took a few hours. While she flew, she listened to Michael through the raven neckpiece she had built for the purpose.

_I think they can hear each other. They're trapped and angry._

'Are they at Tree 2470?' She couldn't tell whether the conflict between jailer and captive hurt Michael, or just bothered him. It wasn't clear if Michael could differentiate between those things.

_I think so. I think one of them is. They're scattered in that area._

'You've been listening? Keeping track?'

_It's loud. They clamor._

'Remember the myth of the eagle?'

_The leaves are the eagle's wings, the fruit its blood. But the enemy?_

'The falling blood could have trapped the demons the eagle fought.'

_I wasn't made from an eagle's battle with demons._

'No, you weren't, Michael. You were made by love.' By trust and magic, and by Lew's betrayal. But that's not what Michael was talking about. 'You're different from the trees, Michael. Remember that? You have a name.'

_Maybe I am like the demons._

'Are you trapped like them?'

Michael thought about this. _No. I'm everywhere. They're… I think they are trapped in just one tree._ Lew waited for him to think. This was important for Michael to understand. This was who he was. _If I was trapped in just one tree, I wouldn't know what else there was. I think I would be OK._

'You _are_ in one tree, though. Do you know why the rest accept you?'

 _I am this_. He sent an image of his model. It was weighty now, heavier than a seven-year-old. He had put heavy wood into its limbs, thick bones to fill in the spaces. It made it easier for him to move in the body. And he had melded leaves into a thin membrane, which flaked off the frame when he moved. Brittle still, but improving fast.

'You're not. That's just your model, Michael.'

 _I am I am I am._ A quick turnaround from saying that he was every rowan tree. There was no point in arguing this. Michael knew that he wasn't the model.

'Why do the rest of the rowan trees accept you, Michael?'

_They want to think. They use me to think._

'Is that hard for you?'

_No. I use them for everything else. It's OK._

'But the demons are trapped?'

 _They know what it is to fly, to have the world to feed on_. Lew shuddered at that. It was a darker thought by far than those Michael usually expressed. _Now they are trapped in just one tree._

'But the tree is different from them, right?'

 _The tree is me._ That was why Michael was so bothered by what he called 'the enemy.' _He_ was the jailer. Interesting that there was such a sharp distinction for Michael between the demons' possession of the tree, and his own. Was it a true distinction, or was it wishful thinking?

'Do you want me to try to get the demon out of the tree?'

_Destroy the tree._

'Won't that hurt you, Michael?'

_It will hurt less._

'Is that what the tree wants?'

Michael was silent for a long time. _I don't think so_ , he said finally.

'Do you know how old the tree is?'

_Tree 2470 is the oldest tree._

'In the world?'

 _The oldest_ rowan _tree,_ he said. _Yes._

'Do you think we can get the demon out of the tree without destroying the tree, Michael?'

 _No._ Then, _We have to do it._

'What will happen to the demon if I destroy the tree?'

A flashing image came from Michael, a tree burning, and a black spirit oozing out off the trunk. Then he added Lew to the image, and the spirit stood and attacked her. It had talons, a gaping toothy maw, seven legs, and wings that blocked out the sun. Suddenly the image cut out. _Maybe we shouldn't._

'Can't you tell the tree to release the demon on its own?'

_I tried and tried and tried but it won't._

'Maybe you should trust the tree.'

_It's stupid._

'The tree? Don't you think it's very old, Michael? Maybe it knows best.'

_It just says 'Duty' over and over again. Or… 'Protect.' It doesn't think that it is suffering. But it doesn't know any other life. I know that it hurts._

'So it should die?'

Michael was silent again. _Maybe not_ , he conceded.

But then, if they didn't kill the rowan and the rowan refused to release the demonic spirit, Michael would continue to suffer. 'How often do they stir like this?'

_This is the worst time. I told you the last time, and the time before. They whisper to me, Lew, even when they do not yell._

'What do they say to you?'

_They tell me how it was to take whatever they wanted. I don't want to do that._

Lew released her jaw, and it popped. Michael was like a sponge, still a child in so many ways. Every time he finished a new book series, he would talk with her endlessly about it. But when Rose was learning a new idea, she asked about it every day for a week. When Michael was learning something new, he talked about it for a year. Lew recognized the signs of loneliness in his obsessive thought circles, but she was helpless to alleviate it in any meaningful way. He had only the trees and herself, Hermione, and increasingly, Rose. Nobody else spent enough time with him to engage with him. He had no playmates, just the trees.

Lew couldn't allow the demons to continue to talk to him. He was too easily influenced. She should have realized sooner how serious the situation was. Michael would never have suggested killing one of the trees if it was not so serious.

 _They say I am just like them_ , he said, interrupting her thoughts.

'You know that you aren't.'

 _But I am trapped, too._ A change from before. Michael didn't conceal things from Lew, exactly. But he was imperfectly aware. He was made of too many pieces to hold every one of them in his mind at one time. And he was so young.

'You are their king. They love you.'

_But I was something else before. With a…_

He fell silent. So he did remember what Hermione showed him, so many years ago. 'Do you remember before you were in the tree, Michael?'

 _No_. Of course not. Only Hermione had felt every moment of his life. Only Hermione had seen his death - both of his deaths. For Lew, Michael had always been an abstract; a reality, but a distant one. Her closest connection with Michael was the surges of emotion from the ring, hope and fear intermixed, protectiveness and a love that Lew had only felt from Hermione during her hunt for Jacob. Lew knew when Hermione was thinking about her baby, because close after the confused swirl of emotion always surged a bitter fury. If not for the miscarriage, Hermione would never have let Lew back in. If Michael had not been born early, Lew would never have known him at all.

Lew wished Hermione was here now. If anyone could tell Michael what he had been, it was Hermione. But Lew would have to do.

'You were our baby, Michael. Do you remember when Rose was a baby?'

 _Yes_.

She waited, but he didn't say anything else, so she kept going. 'Do you remember how small she was? She couldn't walk or talk. Do you remember the first time you talked to her, how simple her thoughts were?' Michael had talked to Rose before Rose spoke out loud. It was his determination to communicate with her that finally unlocked the _lingua_ spell, but he had been mostly confused by the interactions at the time.

 _Yes, I remember_.

'You were even smaller than her. You were born, too, but too early. Your lungs were too weak to breathe. That's why Doris took you to the tree. And the tree accepted you, and you woke up for the first time. Rose doesn't remember when she was a baby, either. But after you woke up, you remember everything, don't you?'

_Yes. I remember Doris. She never told me I was a baby._

'You changed. But you were a baby first. That's why you're different from the demons. They were something horrible before. And you were something good before. Does that make sense?'

_But I'm still trapped. I wish I could change back._

'I don't. You're the best son I could imagine. You're so clever, and you can see so much, and you understand things that I don't even think about. And you are sweet and good. Every day we discover something new that you can do. I would be lost without you.'

 _I don't think so_. He sounded less upset.

'I'm beginning to think you were right about the demons. Do you still want to get rid of them?'

 _I think it's the only way,_ he said hopefully.

'Let's do it.'

* * *

Lew and Hermione were the only non-Weasleys to attend Bill's birthday. Lew was scavenging in the Burrow's kitchen for beer when he appeared, like a ghost, in the threshold.

"How are you, Lew?" he said. He had already asked the question once, but Lew supposed it was different in the relative privacy of the kitchen.

"Good -" Lew started, and Hermione appeared in the other entrance. Bill's face fell. "Hermione, still looking for wine?" She poured it without waiting for her answer.

Bill said to Hermione, "I don't know what Fleur and I will do. Fleur always wanted to send Victoire to Beauxbatons, but there is no way it's staying open now."

Lew handed her the wine, and she took it distractedly. "Really? McGonagall said Hogwarts parents don't seem concerned."

Bill said, "The French have no level of understanding between their government and the Muggles." Hermione glanced at Lew, and Lew dropped her gaze, backing into one of the counters. "If America can hit a school in Argentina that hard, it will only be a matter of time. At least that's what the French think."

"We don't know it was the Americans," Lew said.

"Of course it was," Hermione snapped. "For the same reason that Beauxbatons is safe. South America has always been the playground of the States." She hadn't touched the wine.

"Apolline doesn't agree."

"Then Victoire will go to Hogwarts in three years."

"I guess so," Bill agreed. He looked at Lew. "Depending on if it's open, and if Apolline isn't too afraid to send her there."

The conversation was interrupted by a shrill scream from the living room. Judging from the speed of Hermione's retreat, it was probably Rose's. All children's screams sounded like Rose to Lew.

Lew stayed in the kitchen. Hermione and the Weasley women would trample any attempt Lew made to help, anyway.

Bill studied Lew wordlessly, and Lew returned the examination. He looked old. Lew had expected thirty-eight to look good on him, but the cigarettes and cocaine had weathered his already-scarred face, adding a decade. Fleur, his enthusiastic partner in those activities, looked not a day over twenty.

She wondered how old she looked. The six-year gap between them had never felt so short. If the past few years' stress had weathered Bill, she couldn't imagine what it had done to her.

"I know you can't talk about it, but - is there any hope at all?"

Lew spun her beer in her hands. "Most of the work is training," she said obliquely. "People are coming from all over the world now. They have no idea what they're doing with guns. Nobody can drive. It's a fucking mess. It's babysitting. And half of them haven't even been to magical school."

"Must be interesting, working with a group like that."

"There's a lot to learn, too, but I feel like I can't spare the time. How is the company doing?"

Bill shook his head. "It's changed a lot. Mostly private clients now. There's a massive hermitage movement, you know. They all pretend that they're building an impenetrable fortress and retreating totally from society, but honestly they visit each other a lot. They all refer each other to me. It's a total freak show. But it pays."

"So there's that," Lew agreed. It sounded horrific.

"Do you take…" he trailed off awkwardly. "Do you take donations, by chance?"

"Oh," Lew said, shaking her head. "Um. I actually - like what kind of donation?"

"I was thinking money, but any, I guess. Do you take items?"

"Do you have any tanks?"

Bill laughed, and then he sobered. "That's a real question, isn't it?"

"Pretty much only Muggle items are helpful."

"And you're just conjuring cash."

"Right."

"So you're building an army."

Lew shrugged. "That's an overstatement. And I'm trying to keep them in units, you know, isolated. Separating them out from their countrymen, the people they enlisted with, so they don't go off-target."

"They want to hit political targets?"

"It's taken too long, Bill. It's a fucking nightmare. _Everyone_ is off-target, everyone thinks it's political, that we're somehow snubbing the Ministry, that we're in league with Russia or Al-Qaeda _against_ NATO. Everything about the weapon is classified, so we can't share any progress with the group." Not that there was much to share. The plutonium was a dead end, totally ineffective against magic. "They need something substantial to focus on, more than short missions. The weapon feels -" Molly Weasley peeked into the kitchen. "It feels like a lost cause. Hey," Lew said to Molly.

"Are you ready for dinner?" Molly asked Bill.

"Yes," Bill said, and then he raised his eyebrows at Lew. "Let's get a beer soon."

"Sure," Lew agreed, wondering which of her safehouses she would sacrifice for the chance to talk with him again.

* * *

She hadn't told Hermione that she was finally going, but somehow Hermione knew anyway. The whispered prayers had layered enchantments that zigzagged across Lew's skin and blanketed her face. _Be safe. Do not fear. Be strong, be whole. Be safe, my love._

Hermione had only reluctantly given up her position on top of Lew, having painstakingly coaxed out a flickering orgasm. Lew's fingers inside just made her invocation more frantic, her touch more trembling, until she forgot everything but "I love you." Lew was so focused on her face that she'd had to say "You're glowing" before Lew saw the lines of gold Hermione's benediction had left, sealed by the peak of her passion. Armor against anything but the weapon.

The invisible armor had persisted through the Polyjuice, through the layered jumpsuits and the indignity of the chemical shower, but Lew felt it when the armor fell away. The dead air of the weapon's field blanketed her, but it barely mattered; she couldn't have brought her wand here, anyway. She couldn't even bring… him, her companion. The name was a blank space, but the feeling remained.

Spectral images, so repeated that they appeared in her dreams, guided her through the corridors. Door pass, then fingerprint. She made no eye contact. She was supposed to be here, after all.

She stood before the door to the room. Too dangerous to visit Los Alamos. More dangerous yet to face down this door, but at least there was the potential of finally retrieving the information they needed. She spun Hermione's ring on her finger, disenchanted by the weapon years ago. _For luck._ This was the only technician who was married. She'd had to enlarge the ring to fit the finger.

Finally she reached out her hand and pressed her thumb to the pad. It beeped approval, but then her hand was suffused with an angry white glow, impossible to mistake, the meaning of which eluded her.

The floor dropped out from under Lew's feet, and she woke up on a flat metal bed with her arms and legs securely pinned. There was nobody in the room with her, but she could feel their eyes watching.

She turned her wrists in the bindings. Tight now. How much longer until the Polyjuice wore off? Was it worth slipping out of the bindings, or should she cooperate? She rubbed her fingers together, and of course there was no warmth. She snapped her fingers just to be sure. Nothing. No spark.

Dull panic crept along her arms, numbing, blinding. She gasped through it, finding a small comfort in this body. It felt less vulnerable than her own, more powerful by no specific merit except its masculinity.

She remembered the first touch of Hermione's mind after Lew left the Aurors to pursue Jacob. If Lew screamed as Hermione had, could she break through? The weapon was weakest against mental magic. But if Lew screamed for Hermione, what would it do? How would it help?

She could have woken Hermione from Harry's stunning spell seven years ago, almost did so when it became obvious that she could not trick Jacob into revealing the location of their baby. But why would she do that, when there was nothing Hermione could have done to stop her from sacrificing herself to Jacob? It would have been a comfort to Lew, but it would have hurt Hermione to have the sensation of choice without its actualization.

This was the same. There was nothing Hermione could do to get Lew back. For Lew to reach out to Hermione now would do nothing but cause her pain. Marco was the one in charge now. Marco would not compromise with the Muggles. That was definitely for the best.

But to be bound again was beyond tolerance. To stave off the numb panic, Lew recalled Hermione's touch last night. Sometimes Hermione called Lew hers, claimed her in inches and in pulsing heartbeats. Sometimes she begged Lew to keep her, to take her, to have her forever. But last night Hermione did none of these things. She had asked once, "Won't you send someone else? You're too valuable." When Lew just shook her head, Hermione asked every force of magic within her power to keep Lew safe, and that was all. In the morning, she let Lew go.

When the potion wore off, Lew slipped out of the bindings. She broke the first Marine's neck and the second Marine's knee. The third bowled her down and the fourth drugged her, bringing fleeting relief.

* * *

 _I thought it was safe!_ Hermione's hand fell from his trunk, cutting off communication completely. He couldn't see her face. She paced away.

He stretched his model's arms and stood. It was three groves away, an impossible distance. But the way was relatively safe, just a few highways to cross, no houses. He began walking.

Finally Hermione sat at the base of the tree and let her hand rest on an exposed root. "She went to the compound, didn't she?"

 _I told her not to go,_ he said.

"She had to go." Hermione's voice was flat.

 _It's my fault_ , he said in a rush _. It was one of my eyes. I thought it had been disabled. All of them are disabled in Lawrence Livermore._ Hermione's hand twitched, but she didn't say anything, so he kept going. _It hasn't moved in more than a year. All the ones they're using move around, usually. I thought it was left there accidentally._ He remembered that he was not supposed to tell Hermione about his eyes, but it was too late now.

"It's not your fault, Michael," Hermione said finally. "You didn't know."

_Can you talk to her? I can't._

"No."

_We have to get her out._

"How? Do you know where she is?" Hermione sounded hopeful.

_No. They didn't show her to me. But the light - the sounds - it had never happened before, that the eye was activated, since it was moved to that spot. I know it's not a coincidence. She's not coming back._

"She's coming back," Hermione said, but she sounded defeated. "I can feel it, too. We have to get her back."

 _Will you fight?_ He flipped through a million clarifications, but none seemed adequate and he knew that Hermione knew what he meant.

At last she said, "I have never stopped fighting, Michael. And I will fight for Lew. But we have to be careful. We have to be smart, or I will be caught like she was. Is that OK?"

_Yes. Tell me what to do._

"Tell me everything you know."

It was dark before he ran out of words, and Hermione curled up in a ball under him. At midnight, his model found her, awake there. She pulled him down and wrapped her arms around him, calling him her precious son. Finally she slept, as Lew had done a hundred times, under the spread of his branches.

* * *

_A/N: All right. Starting a new (crazy) job on the 2nd, so no matter how badly I want to fill this in, I can't right now._

_For my reference when I pick this back up, to those who are still reading... I hate to beg, but it would be insanely amazing to get an idea of your response so far. What do you think will happen to the Resistance without Lew? What would you have liked to have seen (character perspectives, details, explanations that I didn't get around to)?_

_Feedback about the previous arc is also, of course, welcome. I'm especially interested in hearing whether people think that Hermione was right in finally taking Lew back, and why. I am personally still up in the air about it._

_It goes without saying, but I'm going to say it anyway: The more feedback, the more likely I will be to get back to this._


	5. Chapter 5

Three years, and three moments she lived in captivity. The first was almost easy. _We are on the same side_ , she told them. _You know who I am. I can help you. I know how to defeat it._

The haze of Apparition was followed fiercely by the sweet breath of free air, and the pulse of death in her veins. She had gone as far as she could, magic constrained by space and time and her own weakness. The collar - the bracelets - bit deep into her body, and the poison did the rest. She imagined that the instant of freedom, the lack of restraint, the sliver of wood in her fingers, had given her back every solid inch of herself. Just to remove the metal from her body, and she would be truly free. She had planned this moment for nearly one brutal year of acquiescence. _The raven_ , her self, was the next step. But the raven could not breathe. _The tiny body gasped, a life deserved, a life longed for, unknown, and was silent._ Not her memory. Not her body. The raven did not breathe at all.

And so she spent the next year as an animal, constrained not by practicality but by ignorance. When an expert on Animagi was finally trusted, they gave her back the magic, and for that brief moment she was free again. Caged, but alive, real. The magic brought her life back, in sharp focus, a life mostly regretted. Two.

It was an interminable year before she lived again. The raven could live by the Muggle puzzles, grew to delight in them. The human could not. Long paces down the same corridor. Bloodied knuckles on the smooth planes of plastic, on sweaty jaws, breaking with a satisfying finality. To take a life when she was free was intolerable. To take a life now was barely sufficient. _How is she so strong?_ they asked when she was in-between. _Does the Pulse not work on her? No body could walk under those drugs. No body could fight like she does._ The answer was always, _I don't know. She's the Raven._

_Why do you keep me alive?_

_I wouldn't._

_Why do you keep me alive?_

_They know._ It was the redhead, flushed with youth, with power. He turned off the cameras. And he did the things that men do when they are unsupervised. _Men supervise themselves_ , she remembered halfway through. He _would never do this to me._ Who? A bodiless man. Nameless. The redhead had never come back. And the cameras stayed on. This was better.

She drummed her fingers on the metal table. The table was always the same. It was always smooth and without identity. And it was always different. No matter how she dented it, whenever she came into this room it was smooth again. Impenetrable, as the room in Lawrence Livermore had been, in the end. And infinitely replaceable, as her captors were. They didn't bother to restrain her here, except for the poisonous band on her ankle. _Her collar._ Somehow fitting that she would have one, now, too.

The door finally opened, and Lew lived for the last time. A name, half-formed, sprung to her lips. "Mio."

"Lew," Hermione said, and then their hands met. Hermione clung to Lew and Lew allowed herself a few blissful moments of thoughtlessness.

"What is happening?" Lew kissed her temple and then her cheek, and pulled away. Her throat granted against the words, harsh. Speech.

"They always knew about us, Lew." Hermione's eyes flickered anxiously up to meet hers. Afraid. She had never been afraid of Lew. Was she?

"Why are you here?"

"They need your help. We need your help."

"I won't help them." _No matter who asks._ Lew released Hermione. She was leaning away, but when Lew released her shoulders she didn't step back. "What - what happened to your hamster, when you were a child?"

"I resurrected it. You told me I was the only thing holding you on the ground, and later you said that meant that you loved me."

"Yes." _Our son,_ Lew thought, without logic. She grasped for the blank space.

"They know everything, Lew. We need your help. Everything is -" Hermione paused and searched the wall behind Lew. "A week after you left, Marco was killed. We had almost arranged a prisoner transfer, Edward for you. Another faction captured Edward, and he was killed last year. The Silver Hand bombed New York, and Russia has taken Ukraine and Moldova completely over."

"The Resistance -"

"Died with Marco. Lew." Hermione finally kissed her. It felt strange.

Lew broke away from the kiss without thinking. "What is happening?"

"The Silver Hand says they have bombs in place in Paris, and the Americans finally trusted me to talk to you. To convince you to help them."

Lew opened her mouth to refuse again, and then closed it. "If they knew all this time, why didn't they tell me?" _You are hostage once again._

Hermione shook her head silently. There was something in her eyes, unreadable to Lew. Was Hermione unfamiliar? Or was conversation? "You're too valuable for them to lose," Lew realized. "Better to keep me tied up than to risk losing you." She'd had it backwards. Lew was more valuable a prisoner than a reluctant collaborator.

"You're safe here." It was a question, permission to feel. The answer was a million no's.

A well of bitter vitriol filled Lew's throat, and she bit her tongue and turned away from Hermione.

"I know how it sounds, but Lew, you have no idea. You have no idea what is happening outside."

"Was it a nuke? In New York?" Lew grated out. Hermione touched the small of her back, and Lew shook under her fingers. She turned, and Hermione's body was finally familiar. Touch was good. _My only love. Yes._

"Fucking fuck fuck fuck," Lew said when they had disentangled their limbs and lips. "Paris? Why?" Was Hermione lying? For Lew, or for the cameras, or both?

"They're terrorists. There is no why."

"There is a why. They wouldn't have told you about the bombs."

Hermione's lips thinned, but she just ran her fingers through Lew's hair. Long now. "How long were you trapped?"

"How do you know?"

"They told me you escaped. Neville said they were asking him questions about Animagi."

"You're talking with him now?"

"Lew." _They're listening._ But why was it OK to mention Neville? They didn't know Neville was involved with Lew, but of course he talked to Hermione. Maybe now they knew. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck._

"You had that fight. I was stuck for a year."

"Oh, Lew."

"It was better. Like that."

"Five years."

"Four years closer to death. Or four minutes. At least I can't find cigarettes here."

Hermione scowled at her. "Please don't be morbid."

"Morbid," she repeated. She tried the British accent. "Morbid."

"Funny." They stared at each other for a few long moments, and Lew's smile faded. Hermione spoke. "I love you."

"If this is how you treat the people you love, I'd hate to see how you treat your enemies."

"Brutally. With no remorse."

"Brutally," Lew repeated. New York was rapidly fading, enveloped by Hermione's presence. "What do they want me to do?"

"Escape," Hermione said softly.

The incredulous smile the words provoked faded quickly, again. "You're serious."

"Serious," Hermione said, drawling the word. "The Silver Hand has used you as a martyr. If you go to them, you might be able to find out - anything, really. Their plan. Whether the bombs are real."

"How did they get a nuke?"

"That, too."

"OK. So they're going to trust me now."

"It's Paris, Lew."

"Right. And you've decided to stop protecting me. Is that right?"

"It has to work."

"And if I disappear for six months? Will you be punished?"

"No," Hermione said, but her eyes flickered away from Lew's. "You have to stay in communication."

"How? Owls would be loyal to them."

"Patronus? Can you?"

"No." Difficult before, impossible now.

"They will give you a machine. They'll bug you."

"Ridiculous. The Silver Hand will see through it in an instant." They stared at each other, and Lew was certain they were thinking the same thing. Was it worth revealing their mental connection for the sake of this mission? There must be another way.

"They will have a plan. We don't need to worry about it," Hermione finally said. So her trust for them must be imperfect. "Lew, I -" she breathed, paused, stumbled, and then kissed Lew with such passion that it left Lew breathless. "This isn't romantic, but baby, I just need you inside. Will you?"

Lew nodded and turned her around against the wall as Hermione unfastened her jeans. She fumbled through Hermione's underwear, hating that they were being watched, but hesitating only in her mind, and pressed her hips against Hermione's to block the view. Hermione put her leg up, her arms over Lew's shoulders, and looked deep into her eyes. And Lew found her, wet and so hot with desire that Lew's own passion flared. She gasped with the totality of the feeling, the accidental and remorseless actualization of knowing her in every slick inch. Hermione started talking, "Yes, your body, yes, Lew, you're perfect, give it to me, take me, yes, yes, yes."

Lew slipped a finger inside, not enough that it would consume the touch, but enough for Hermione to feel her. She slipped back out, denying herself, and Hermione cursed her bitterly. Then she teased back inside, holding her up, holding their hips as close together as she could. Hermione wanted her to take her pleasure here, wanted to feel like she was giving something to Lew, and Lew played the part with determination. There was nothing quite like this knowing, this finding. She looked back at Hermione and shocked her hips into Hermione's body, her waiting, digging deep. She listened carefully to each signal, letting Hermione lead without either of them admitting it, resting the heel of her hand against Hermione's softness and watching her buckle into the touch. The look Hermione gave her was almost enough to make Lew ache, and then she turned her face away and Lew bit her neck as she came.

"It's been too long without you, baby." Hermione was pulsing, throaty, and Lew was overcome with wanting.

"I need you."

"Fuck. Yes. I need you." Wanting her to break more. Harder. Softer. Everything. _Feel everything I feel._

"I'll give you everything." _Break with me inside._

"Yes. Please." Hermione slowed, stopped, relaxed, and Lew worked her hand out. She kissed Hermione's forehead and Hermione's arms around her neck were heavy. "Please," Hermione repeated, and then she stood straighter and kissed Lew hard. "I need to have you outside." She'd said it before, and this time Lew understood.

"I'll be there."

"We can't see each other."

"How long can I be without you?"

"Long enough," Hermione said. "As long as you're outside." _In my mind._

"This is goodbye, isn't it?"

Hermione shook her head. "Not yet."

"Tell me about Rose."

"She is six, in school, as brilliant as her mother and maybe more beautiful." Hermione smiled shyly at Lew, and Lew understood her to mean Lew herself. "She, um -" Hermione fumbled in her pocket. "Made you this. It's part of a larger work." She smiled, and Lew examined the picture. Lew was standing under a tree, and a small figure, Rose, was in the tree's branches. To the side stood Hermione, recognizable by her curls. Lew was missing something.

"Can I see her?"

"Tomorrow, I think. But you have to leave quickly. They're going to prep you a lot. I will bring her and…" Hermione looked at Lew with meaning, a careful calculation. "You haven't seen her in years."

Lew nodded, ears ringing. "That would - I would like to see them. Her." Her mouth spoke words that didn't follow her memory, but Hermione's understanding didn't waver.

"You will see _her_ ," she said slowly. Lew considered the enunciation. She considered each precious syllable, made solid by Hermione's eyes, by her persistent warmth, penetration in the deepest way.

"Yes."

"Lew."

"I want to hold you."

"Hold me," Hermione breathed, but it wasn't close enough. "Fuck me," she demanded. Lew felt the same. Sex was enough, maybe, for Hermione.

"Yes," Lew managed, and they met on the table, and Lew found her sorrow in Hermione's body. Hermione didn't come, but this time they met fully, in Lew's frustration, in her lack. They both lacked. Neither was enough. But Lew was what Hermione's body lived for, and in this way they fought against the emptiness until each was so alone that they pulled apart.

"You will be mine," Hermione noted.

"I am completely."

"If you were mine you would have listened."

"I am not your creature." _I am not your pet._ It didn't seem possible that she should say such a thing.

Hermione just locked her arms around Lew's head and pressed her forehead against Lew's. Lew flinched away from the aggressive touch, and for this brief moment Hermione did not relinquish it. "You are mine. You have to be. What are you -"

"Completely yours. I will do this thing for you."

"And I will get you back."

"I will come home."

"Come." Hermione kissed her, softly, harder than she had ever kissed Lew. "Come back."

These words carried Lew through her crash course in modern spyware, through her brief encounter with her daughter, and finally, finally, into the open air of Paris, where she walked, with hands empty, into the maw.


End file.
